


TOURMALINE

by aniseed



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bad Parents, Blood, Choi San is Whipped, Demon Choi San, Demon Summoning, Demonic Possession, Divination, Each of them is represented by a tarot card, Enemies to Lovers, Language of Flowers, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pagan Gods, Rated For Violence, Rating May Change, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rituals, San is confused but ooo that witch is pretty, San is possessed, Seonghwa also speaks french, Seonghwa is heartbroken and has been for five centuries, Sirens, Spells & Enchantments, Strangers to Lovers, Tarot Cards, Witch Jung Wooyoung, Witch Kang Yeosang, Witch Park Seonghwa, Witchcraft, Witches, Woosanghwa coven, Wooyoung has something to prove, Worship, Yeosang is a powerhouse, also references to fairytales cause long black-haired wooyoung gives me insane snow white vibes, among other things, and seduces people, but i don't want to hand out too many spoilers, can't believe i forgot the most important tag, haven't decided on one yet, hwa is also a perfumer, hwa reads minds, i made a spotify playlist for this and i highly recommend for ultimate vibes, lovers to lovers honestly, oh no don't kill me, oh yeah, so expect detailed descriptions of scents, some stuff is pretty barbaric ngl but I'll warn you, that's it for now so enjoy!! i have big plans for this so enjoy ehehe, the other boys are a busking troupe, they hate each other as you would expect, what's this about a demon you say?, woo literally makes storms, yeo tells the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 07:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30119247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aniseed/pseuds/aniseed
Summary: Thunderstorms draw something out of people calm seas aren't able to. In San's case, that something is a demon.San hasn't had much luck with higher powers since he was dragged out of his church suffering from uncontrollable convulsions at the tender age of 11. He hasn't stepped foot on hallowed ground since.So, when San starts being plagued by splitting headaches and visions of mysterious, robed figures that seem to follow him wherever he goes, he has no other option to cope than to ignore them.This all changes while travelling on a group holiday disguised as a tour through the bucolic European countryside, where San finds himself at the centre of an ancient prophecy tying him to a red-cloaked witch with a face that could tempt the gods.In order to prevent an end-of-the-world scenario brought about by a war waged between the heavens and the deepest pits of hell, the two are asked to do the one thing they don't seem to be able to:Stay away from each other.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	TOURMALINE

**Author's Note:**

> Spotify Playlists:
> 
> music - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/744ZBpPwXKcG29X1Wie9Jq?si=boL9OlYRSpavLZiAYC_9gQ
> 
> sountracks - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5sBoby9WvIa9yxuB51zuDq?si=7GfvKqHASNqX_1NwG6P4jw
> 
> combined - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5G9LzVtK1Fkl5UIXM21vJl?si=ENVk21ZJRpKXX4GKTbkABw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: short mention of a dead cat

Things are changing.

It started in the trees. Seonghwa has always treated the forest as an extension of his body, going to it for the comfort he couldn’t get anywhere else in quite the same way. His stomach had wrenched upon entry past the first boughs; it smelt like death and felt much the same, as if he was walking through a graveyard but all its skeletons were laid out on display in coffins made of glass. Nothing disturbed him more than the silence, leaving behind a dissonant ringing in his ears. It was as if the wild abundance of life had been sucked out of it entirely, his bare feet traipsing over the stripped bones of bark and rotting flower buds. He could not stay there long, not when the woods were nothing but a husk of their former glory, mocking him for the time he’d spent there praising its progeny. It broke his spirit.

It was obvious from his experience alone that something was horribly wrong, but his story isn’t the only disturbing occurrence to present before the High Council today.

It’s been a while since he’s visited rural Italy, especially for magic-related happenings. Seonghwa had been known to keenly avoid their stuffy meetings for at least a couple of centuries and he had no intention of changing that anytime soon. Unfortunately, his presence was mandated this time, but he’s beginning to understand why as his people notified him of their cases one by one. According to those on the Indian Ocean, the waters have become treacherous beyond the expected. His friends from Iceland speak of spontaneous volcanic eruptions, and his acquaintances from the States’ report the most active tornado season in decades. The warning signs seem to be endless, and Seonghwa’s not sure he’s ready to think about what they might mean.

He arrived in Siena yesterday. The short journey to San Gimignano was one he spent admiring the town’s signature towers, peaking eagerly over the hilltops to greet him. It’s been years; walking the streets of Tuscany once again makes him feel as if he’s stepped back into the past. He can’t remember how he managed to stay away for so long, feeling warm nostalgia building in him — it’s walls are like the shell of his own personal time capsule, cracked open gently to release his long-forgotten memories.

The meeting happens that night.

Seonghwa slips out of his hotel and into a dark shroud, slinking along shadowed walls and narrow streets. Somewhere along the way, he picks up a companion, looking down at the sound of a ‘meow’ to find an alley cat clinging close to his ankles. It leaves a smile on his face to know not all animal life is suffering from the effects of whatever’s happening to their world at the moment. His company splits from him reluctantly as he reaches a modest stone arch. It wouldn’t be worth a second glance to the untrained eye, but Seonghwa’s accustomed to the gateways his kind use to achieve that exact effect. He waits for the space between the walls to start shimmering before he steps through it, his bare foot making contact not with dusty earth, but starry granite. The hall is empty — he’s late. The cloak over his shoulders is no more, and he can see the Prussian blue material of his wrap reflecting at him in the large fountain that greets his entry. Not a hair on his head seems out-of-place despite concealing it beneath a hood earlier. He doesn’t know how humans get through the day without magic — Seonghwa knows he couldn’t bear it.

He bathes in the pool of the fountain before venturing any further, a common courtesy associated with meeting the High Council. He knows firsthand how much they value ‘purity’. Now with a noticeable glow to his skin, he slips back into his robes and is greeted by a secretary in a sharp monochrome suit.

“The other’s are already inside, Mr Park. Shall I take you to meet with them?” Her tone is professional and her eyes are genuinely friendly but empty. He wonders how a human got stuck working behind the desk at a witches’ temple for only a moment before realising he probably wouldn’t like the answer. Beneath his breath, he murmurs a little prayer for the sake of her mental wellbeing after having her brain fried by multiple amnesia spells. Giving her a slight nod of affirmation, he follows after her. He tries to be inconspicuous about the heartache he feels from her vacant gaze, but he’s always been told his face is too expressive. He hasn’t been able to lie to anyone for a long time.

With a reluctant sigh, Seonghwa enters through the familiarly enormous doors into the council room alone. With high, vaulted ceilings and a colour palette reigned over by blues, grey-blues and greyer blues, the cathedral-like interior feels cold and grand beyond comparison. Moonlight filters in through tinted glass, caressing the barriers of balconies that line every wall. Each is filled with people he knows, people he doesn’t and people he’s only ever heard of. Slim pillars reach from the ground upwards, where they melt into fresco paintings of various gods, pagan and beyond. At the far end of the hall, a platform arises, supporting the weight of four thrones for each of their most politically powerful Council members. He seems to have arrived mid-argument _comme un cheveu sur la soupe_. Silence falls. There’s nothing quite like feeling the eyes of a thousand sorcerous creatures on you, but Seonghwa returns their glares with equal judgement; he will not be looked down upon in the court he helped create.

“Nice of you to join us, Seonghwa,” Marius, the High Council’s elected leader, welcomes him with warm words. “It’s been too long.”

“You’re late,” one of the women stood next to him announces. Jieun. He doesn’t bother holding back a scowl — she doesn’t deserve his respect. Seonghwa’s heard enough of her antics from her son to know that at the very least. She’s never approved of him, either, believing he put rebellious ideas in her boy’s head. It makes him scoff every time she stumbles to the end of that argument, both of them knowing all too well how free-thinking he is. Seonghwa couldn’t get Wooyoung to do a single thing he didn’t want to, and neither could she. Just the idea of someone influencing that young man any one way is laughable.

“That I am,” he says, “but at least I’m here.” Seonghwa takes his place in the resounding quiet, climbing the stairs to the second balcony and sinking into the shadows cast by the third. The argument from before resumes as if it was never interrupted.

Ten minutes later, his head is already in agony. He shouldn’t have come. He wishes he’d ignored the order and just dealt with whatever punishments the superiors doled out again. Although, as he remembers the sting of lashes on his back from a buried memory, that fate doesn’t sound as appealing anymore.

There are several things Seonghwa would consider to be indisputable facts. However, his current company like to turn everything into a point of contention, and many of these things have still managed to inspire petty disagreements. Expectedly, the majority of the discourse comes from rival households who once argued over where the perimeter dividing each other’s vineyards was or something equally inane. None of it interests him, and the only thing he can do is bite back scathing remarks lest he accidentally gets involved. He has to wait until they get back on track to the real issues at hand, but he simply can't spare the sanity for it. He’s not sure if his boredom is relieved or his sanity further jeopardised when he feels a finger tap him on the shoulder before a hand comes to rest at his waist.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jongin starts, gifting him the voice of a long-time friend that makes him want to smile and roll his eyes at the same time. He does both. “Nice to see you, Hwa.”

“Kai,” he says with the tone of voice of a kindergarten teacher scolding a child for drawing on the walls. “What a surprise! They still let you in these places? I for sure would’ve thought you’d be permanently banned from hallowed ground by now.”

“You and me both,” he laughs, the most genuine sound of happiness he’s heard in a while. Seonghwa can’t help the warmth he feels — maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all. It’s a shame his coven of two couldn’t come with him, but with their preparations for the Awakening ceremonies this year, they’ve been tied down. Maybe he should invite Jongin back to see them, but he’s sure the witching community in Milan would collapse if he left it to its own devices for more than a couple of days at a time.

With his mind on Milan, he thinks to one of their other friends, currently stood at the front of the room on Marius’ right. There’s a confident smirk on his face and his hands are clasped behind his back. He can’t remember a time he’s looked more proud, but Seonghwa’s a difficult man to fool; there’s fear seeping through the cracks in his visage the same way it is through Jongin’s.

“Bambam looks happy,” he starts, and Jongin cackles.

“Indeed he does. A big Italian fashion mag picked up on one of his collections and he’s been bragging about it all week.” Then, Jongin’s smile slips. “At least, he was, until he came home to find his cat strung from the ceiling and stuck like a pig.”

Seonghwa’s blood runs cold. Mouth hanging open, he breathes a deep, shaky sigh and tries not to get too upset. Besides, thinking too deeply about a death as symbolic as that leads him down the paths of possibilities too dark to entertain. With what minimal information they have on the current situation, he doesn’t think jumping to conclusions would be smart. Jongin’s hand moves to the small of his back to rub reassuring circles into it. If Seonghwa were a weaker man, he’d cry out of gratefulness.

Not long later, Jongin leaves his side to give his testimony to the court. All eyes are on him as he recites the awful happenings from his area of the world. As terse voices come to a crescendo, Seonghwa feels the colour drain from his face when someone mentions a word he knows hasn’t been spoken in this room for a very long time. He knows where this conversation is headed and he doesn’t like it. Jongin and Bambam’s eyes shoot towards him — he doesn’t look, but he can feel it.

“This sounds like demons.”

More eyes turn to him, one by one, searching for his reaction. Seonghwa refuses to give them the satisfaction and remains like a statue despite feeling sick to his stomach. He knows Marius won’t call him out on this —

“Well, why don’t we ask the expert?”

But, Jieun —

“Seonghwa,” she looks to the shadows against the wall, “what are your thoughts on the matter? I’m sure we’d all appreciate the insight.” Jieun masks her voice with something saccharine that has bile rising in his throat, but Seonghwa has always been strong, and she will not make him stumble with a blow as low as that. He ignores the cautious glances cast his way as he steps into the moonlight, the silvery glare of it glinting off the emeralds in his ears. The witches stood around him turn to face him as if they only just realised he was there.

“I didn’t say it first because I fear jumping to conclusions will lead us astray,” he projects his voice clearly, admiring the acoustics of the hall somewhere in the back of his mind. “But my instincts tell me the same thing. This all feels too familiar to me, and if I had to make a guess now, I’d — yes, I’d say this is the work of a demon. Forests don’t perish in a day without the aid of evil.”

He’s thought long and hard about this, questioning Yeosang on anything he might’ve seen in his sleep. He says his prophetic dreams are occurring more frequently and have become far more vivid, the most recent of which so intense that it left the poor boy on bed rest for three days and nights. Since then, no gut feeling has passed without being analysed, and every cryptic message left to him by a woodland creature is written in his records. He’s kept his eye on Wooyoung, too, who’s energy has had Seonghwa drawing up a blank lately.

At his words, the council casts their eyes to a tapestry on the far wall behind the array of raised thrones. Seonghwa is the only exception, awaiting the painful line of questioning he’s sure will come his way with his eyes cast down. He knows it depicts a great battle, the artwork itself something Seonghwa is hopelessly familiar with, both from the history textbooks their young learn from and because he’d been there to watch it being painted. He wonders if he looked closely enough, would he be able to find himself among the chaos? He’s never bothered trying before, too afraid of who he might see standing by his side. Or, even worse, with the entities he used to call his enemy — the entities that still are.

Those memories are painful ones he has no wish to bring forth. It’s taken him long enough to get over what happened as it is; he can spare no more of his long life pondering on fossilised regrets. He fiddles with the dark lacework hemming his sleeves, tugging at his high neck in the hopes it would give him some more room to breathe.

Schooling his features, the crowds part for him as he heads towards the stairs, refusing to look him in the eyes. He registers that many of the witches here have never seen him in person before, experiencing his whispered existence through legendary stories and the pages of near-spineless books only. Seongwha can sense their curiosity and the air of mystery they cast around him, but it doesn’t bother him. All of these wanting to know more about him means they don’t already know, and that suits him perfectly. It’s the reason he turned down the throne he was offered on the High Council. A simple life is all he’s ever wanted — he’s had enough adventures to satisfy him for millennia to come.

That must be why it feels so strange standing before his people now, the tapestry detailing the second worst moment of his life hanging behind him in mockery. It feels like a taunt.

He speaks to dull the shallow throb of his heart; “many of you will know of my experience with such evil. I know that I haven’t been present among you for some time, and many of you haven’t lived long enough to meet me at all, but I believe in the urgency of our current situation whole-heartedly, and I wouldn’t like it to grow out of our control.” Seonghwa takes a moment to breathe, scanning the faces staring back at him inquisitively. “So, I’d like to make myself at your disposal. If this is indeed what I think it is, you will undoubtedly need my help.”

“Thank you, Seonghwa,” Marius smiles, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder as he comes to stand next to him.

It’s almost perfect, and he’s already stepping away to go back to his place when he comes face to face with Jieun. He can’t help the way his eyes narrow.

“Lady Jung,” he says through gritted teeth, “did I forget something?”

“Not at all,” she smiles, all flawless skin and intelligent eyes. He can see where Wooyoung gets his looks from. She’s a smart woman, beautiful to all but the blind, who would only hear the bitter words falling from her painted lips and nothing else. “I just wondered if it might be uncomfortable for you, offering your aid to us so generously,” she says, falsified sympathy in her voice.

Seonghwa’s not sure he wants to ask, but he does anyway, curious how far she’ll go just to rile him up; “How so?” The warning tone in his voice is obvious.

“Oh,” her brow furrows in mock confusion, “I’m sure you’re aware of what we’re referring to.” ‘We’, she says, as the only person cornering him. What a vile woman. “We wouldn’t want you exerting yourself, given your history with the occult.”

Seonghwa bristles, having to bite back a hiss. “My _history_ has nothing to do with whether or not I’m capable of helping.” He knows she’s trying to undermine his abilities — this is what she’s like with people more powerful than her. “I’m sure you, of all people, are aware of this at the very least.”

“Of course, Seonghwa, I’d never dream of challenging you in that regard.” She’s already tried that. “I’m simply making sure your previous allegiances won’t affect our current goals. I understand that lost love can be —“

“That will be all.”

And he’s serious. He takes his leave right then and there, marching directly through the centre of the hall and out through the ceiling-high doors, ignoring the sound of Jongin calling after him and Bambam’s shadowing footsteps.

Seonghwa falls into bed with tears on his face that night, not exactly crying, but overflowing. His hands haven’t stopped shaking. He just… he had to leave. He refuses to let anyone see him in a state like this, much preferring to exit with dignity to his name still.

It shouldn’t bother him anymore. Centuries have passed; he’s seen empires fall and new ones arise from the ashes, he’s discovered untouched lands, he’s watched the old world morph into the new one as the age of technology dawned, bringing them a new world beyond anything his first people could’ve anticipated. All these things and so much change, yet his brain is still stuck on the person that wasn’t allowed to live through any of that with him.

He’d convinced himself he’d moved past that. He was sure he had by going a day, a month, a year without thinking back to those times, but all it takes is a reminder and he’s brought back down to his knees, hunched over the body of the man he never got to love.

He can’t stay another night here. He knows he won’t sleep anyway, and it’s just as well because Yeosang is calling him sometime around 3:00 am and he hasn’t sounded so scared in a long time.

“Yeosang! Calm down, what is it? What happened? Another dream?”

“I — Seonghwa,” his voices shakes, his breathing laboured, sounding like crackled static through the phone speaker, “it’s Wooyoung. I saw — I think I just saw him die."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!!
> 
> I've been so excited to post this as I've been planning it since early January, and I can't believe I've already written the first chapter/prologue, it's crazy
> 
> I hope you're just as excited as me to see how this story unfolds!!
> 
> With lots of love from your least favourite flavour (?),
> 
> Aniseed <3
> 
> ALSO!
> 
> My Twitter: @tubersnow
> 
> I draw stuff for this au and others ehehe, here's the link to some Witchy Woosan: https://twitter.com/tubersnow/status/1372631923227512832?s=21


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